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Jett stumbles in, trailing ripped IV wires and looking like icy hell.
Eyes are worse than Finn’s.
Not just death, but desolation.
Found him passed out cold and bloody next to a lump of meat that was probably Nathan.
Won’t know ’til we check dental records.
Gunshot wound seeping, broken glass ground into his cheeks, he lunges for the phone. “Tracker?”
“Got it running. We’re out.”
“Go.” He can barely fucking stand, but I’m not putting anyone on the bench.
Doesn’t matter who’s in charge, who gives what order. We’re one heart, one mind, one soul, brotherhood finally focused on the only goal that ever fucking mattered.
Save Lilah.
FORTY-ONE
LILAH
I creep down the hallway, hotter by the second, twisted by cramps.
Everything. Hurts.
I gag when I hear Noelle’s pants and moans echoing from the kitchen.
Galley?
Yacht’s so big they can probably call it whatever the hell they want. But there’s still only one hallway, and I have to creep past the ugh to reach the deck.
Never been on a boat, but in the movies, they have life rafts up there.
Plus, maybe I looked out the wrong window. Even this wrecked, I can swim if there’s a shore.
I ease to my knees and crawl.
Not going to look, but I’m praying he has her knotted. Even if they notice me, I’ll have a minute to myself before he can deflate enough to pull out.
Holding my breath, I crawl past the door.
Noelle’s pornstar pants don’t break tempo.
I keep crawling until I’m well clear, and another, twistier cramp sinks me to my elbows.
Shit.
I’m boiling. Have to move before my scent gives me away.
I crawl up steps, hands and knees, but my arms shake.
This is worse than my last heat.
Much, much worse.
Because I know what’s fucking coming.
